Ursula le Guin, "The Other Wind"

[helenic]

I may be medium-sized and quick in many ways, but when it comes to books I am a big, slow reader. I don't race through books; I take my time with them. I live with them for a few days or a week, absorb them gradually until the mood and pace of them builds in me, layer upon layer, rising to a slow, deep crescendo. When I am in the middle of a book I am full with it, I carry it with me as I cook dinner and make tea and shower and walk back home from town. And yet I am a big reader; novels are one of the things I depend upon emotionally. I am affected very strongly by them, I think and talk about them a great deal.

In a way, I feel that the longer it takes me to read a book, the more I get out of it. There's a natural limit to that, of course, but spending a fortnight luxuriating in a novel such as Middlemarch, or A Suitable Boy, or The Lord of the Rings brings me a huge amount of pleasure. It stakes out a period of my life as belonging to, being utterly enriched by, that particular book. I am almost disappointed when I can finish a novel in an afternoon. Normally this is only the case with childrens' books – which happens to include some of my favourite novels, such as the Song of the Lioness sequence by Tamora Pierce, or the Narnia sextet. Then there are the novels I read in a single night, staying up late to finish them, or in a single day. The Harry Potter books, usually. Most things by Margaret Atwood, except The Blind Assassin which took me a delicious five days. Most of the Terry Pratchetts. And the latest book by Ursula le Guin.

Now this was a surprise. Le Guin is one of my favourite science fiction authors, along with people like Iain M. Banks and Sheri S. Tepper. Her fantasy writing isn't quite as good, in my opinion, because her politics are even less subtle, but the Earthsea quartet is dear to my heart because I loved it so much when I was a child. And I've spent the last three weeks – or maybe longer, I'm not sure – moving through the first four Earthsea novels and the new short story collection. They hung around my head. I was dipping into them every day for short periods of time, in the bath or on the bus or for ten minutes before I went to sleep. Tehanu ended, as always, all too abruptly. The Tales I lingered delightfully over. But The Other Wind took me a mere few hours on the train. It's very different in style to the others; more self-consciously modern and female and Canadian, all the things she started to bring into Tehanu but without the glorious poignancy of epic. The Other Wind is a novel of closure. It answers, somewhat repetitively and wholly predictably, all the questions asked in Tehanu and in each of the following short stories. I enjoyed it, and there were moments of beauty in it, but the power of Earthsea is in the vastness of it, that open endlessness. The Other Wind explains all the metaphysical mysteries through somewhat transparent and overdone dialogue (perhaps a reaction to the overly-formal epic style of the first three novels, aiming for more natural characterisation and more modern agendas, but she's crossed too far over the line, in my opinion; there's no depth to it). And then it changes Earthsea forever, in a way you've seen coming since the beginning of the book; not following the rather exciting possibilities of gender politics started in the Irian story, but copping out with an escapist, fantastic, disappointing, and genuinely sad loss to the world. Women at Roke would have perhaps been a cliché, but at least they would have been a satisfying one. The Other Wind leaves no question unanswered. It ties everything up neatly, in just the way you knew it would when you first started reading. As such it lacks a lot of the power of its predecessors. Novels should always leave questions unanswered, possibilities unexplored. It should hold future paths in suspension; this is why Tehanu was so poignant. I can understand that an author who has been writing in this world for several decades would want to close it so firmly there is no possibility of returning to it, but it doesn't make anywhere near as good an ending.

Don't get me wrong; I liked The Other Wind. But mainly I liked it for its reminiscences, for the chance to see beloved characters again, Azver and Irian and Tehanu and Tenar and, of course, Ged. It was an indulgent enjoyment. I was moved, but not for the book's own sake, only for the sake of what it was ending. And I wasn't challenged or surprised. I think that the easy, dialogue-based, introspective, modern style of it didn't help. I raced through it, finished it in an afternoon, and was left unsatisfied. (Or rather too satisfied, perhaps.) I never filled with it; it flashed by too quickly. I prefer the slow build.

Comments

[tim-skellington.livejournal.com]

I used to be a quick reader like my partner is but learned a while back the joy of really reading a book in the way you describe. Now, I find the idea of going back to devouring books as opposed to digesting them (strange metaphors but they seem to work) just strikes me as wrong. Learning this brought me huge amounts of pleasure from new books and new appreciations for old books.

[libellum.livejournal.com]

The metaphor is a good one, and makes perfect sense :)

I always used to lament that I didn't race through books the way my friends so. But I think at least part of it is a choice - I *could* speed read if I wanted to, but I prefer not to, I get more out of it this way. The only downside is that I get through fewer books.

[tim-skellington.livejournal.com]

The metaphor is a good one, and makes perfect sense :)

Shhhh! You'll ruin my reputation ;)

[liriselei.livejournal.com]

i find that i get more out of books i read over a short period - the ones i sit down and start reading then find myself continuing to read regardless of minor distractions like the needs ignored for food, drink and sleep pull me into a state of ... <handwaves> ... focus which leaves a significant emotional impression and lingering echoes that have me slowly digesting and contemplating for days afterwards, whereas if i read a book over multiple sittings then the experience is too fragmented to be similarly absorbing, the impression of the book diluted by the real-world concerns that intrude between its chapters. if the desire to read on isn't enough to keep me actually reading, then it's not enough to absorb my mind in speculation while waiting to do so.

[libellum.livejournal.com]

I do understand what you mean. There have been some books I've read in a single sitting and it hits you, hard. Leaves you dizzy and disorientated, and emotionally incoherent until you go to sleep. I prefer the slow simmer, the time to digest and think about it.

Of course, the compatability of the desire to not stop reading with the pressing business of real life is a factor you don't mention :) Would that I *had* the time to read uninterrupted... As it is, the only way I can do it is by missing a night's sleep. They are all different pleasures, but I think I like taking my time.

[liriselei.livejournal.com]

the compatability of the desire to not stop reading with the pressing business of real life is a factor you don't mention

one of the silver linings of not having a real life !